A Strange Sort of Tenderness
by trichgirl03
Summary: In one fluid motion Yassen had him on his stomach, knee pressed hard against his back, pinning him down. Alex's head throbbed nauseatingly and he tasted blood. "If you disobey me I will have to hurt you," Yassen said quietly. Rating will change. Slash M/M
1. Chapter 1

Alex Rider let the warm water run through his hair and trickle down his chest. He closed his eyes at the sensation. He was standing underneath the spray of a shower in a changing room he had found in Damian Cray's compound. He knew he didn't have much time before Cray noticed his body had disappeared from the pain synthesis labyrinth and ordered a manhunt for him, but he wanted to enjoy this small comfort before he was faced with the insurmountable task of escaping the compound. He only wanted to slip comfortably beneath the bed sheets in his hotel room in Amsterdam. But first he had to get out of this prison.

It felt good to rub the sticky, congealed snake blood off his torso. He ran his hands over his face, neck, chest, and arms, looking at the pool of red water running down his body. He swallowed several mouthfuls of water and spit them out, trying to get the bitter, awful taste of blood out of his mouth. When he felt reasonably clean he reached to turn the water off. But before his hand could turn the knob, he felt a cold metal barrel press firmly between his shoulder blades. "I would advise you not to move," said a soft, calm voice that he recognized. He knew who stood behind him—Yassen Gregorovich. The realization sent a jolt of fear down his spine.

Alex nodded in response to the directive. He felt a hand wrap around his upper arm, fingers gripping his wet skin. He knew he couldn't overpower the Russian, but maybe he could slip away from him. He tried to yank himself free of the man's grasp, using his slick skin to his advantage. Though the boy's skin was slippery, Yassen did not relinquish hold of him. He grasped the back of his neck, fingers curled, and held Alex's head under the stream of water. Alex struggled but couldn't break free of the man's hold. He only felt himself pulled up when he started to lose consciousness. When Yassen finally released his head he was gasping and panting, his lungs screaming for air as he struggled for breath.

"Has Cray seen you?" Yassen demanded. Alex didn't understand why that was important. Why did it matter if the millionaire had seen him or not? Yassen was working for Cray. He would just bring him back to him. Alex didn't respond. Yassen tangled his hand in his wet hair and wrenched his head back. Alex's neck protested at the harsh movement. "Please don't make me ask you again," Yassen hissed in his ear. "Does Cray know you're here?" he repeated. "No! I...I don't think so," Alex said through gritted teeth.

Yassen said something in Russian and Alex glanced behind his shoulder. Two men had accompanied Yassen into the changing room. They were both armed. Alex didn't recognize either of them as one of Cray's men, but he thought they must be part of Cray's army of subservients. One of the other men approached Alex and pushed a towel and fresh clothes into his hands. "Get dressed," Yassen said curtly. Alex knew it was an order, not a request. Yassen pointed his gun at him. Alex shivered a little bit as he dried himself off. He still had his back to the men in the room. How long had they been there while he was unaware of their presence? He blushed at the idea of them watching him shower. He could imagine their eyes appraising him, raking over his naked body.

He couldn't let Yassen take him back to Cray. For some reason, Yassen almost seemed ambivalent about taking his life, but he knew Cray wouldn't feel that same way. He had nearly ruined his launch of Gameslayer at the demonstration in London, and he had tried to ruin Eagle Strike. Cray would torture him, or get Yassen to do it, and then kill him in some horrible, presumably messy, fashion. Alex felt sick to his stomach thinking about it. This time Cray would take no chances. He would make sure he was dead. This time there would be no escape.

With a growing sense of dread and panic, Alex finished putting on his clothes. He still hadn't turned to face the men. Once he was dressed Yassen came close behind him and spoke: "Turn around." Alex hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if he should attempt to jab his elbow back into the man's stomach, but Yassen was prepared for him to struggle. He hit Alex's lower back with the palm of his hand with such force that the blow was like a snake striking, incapacitating its prey. Alex crumpled to the floor. He had the sense to stretch out his hands to soften his fall, but his head still knocked against the floor with a sickening jolt. In one fluid motion Yassen had him on his stomach, knee pressed hard against his back, pinning him to the floor. He couldn't move. His whole body was sore from the impact with the concrete floor and his head throbbed nauseatingly. He tasted blood. "If you disobey me I will have to hurt you," Yassen said quietly. Desperate for escape, Alex did not heed his warning; with his last reserve of strength, he thrashed his body underneath the man's. With a flick of his wrist Yassen dislocated the boy's right shoulder. He quickly covered Alex's mouth to muffle his scream.

"I will reposition your shoulder if you come with me," Yassen said calmly to Alex. "It will be much better for you if you come willingly." He looked down at the boy. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was flushed. "Do you understand, Alex?" Alex was in too much pain to resist. He nodded, panting. He didn't trust himself to say anything. He didn't want his voice to break or waver or fear to creep into it. He didn't want Yassen to hear the pain in his voice. Yassen made a quick movement and popped his shoulder back into place. Alex tried not to make a sound but he couldn't suppress a small gasp.

Yassen got off of him and stood up. Alex lay on the ground for a moment, stomach heaving, trying to catch his breath. He wanted to savor his last few minutes of life. He certainly couldn't have imagined he'd be spending them with Yassen. He wasn't going to plead with the man or beg for his life. He just needed to prepare himself for whatever they were going to do to him, whatever agonizingly painful death they had planned for him. He promised himself that the Russian wasn't going to break him.

"Get up," Yassen ordered. Alex didn't wait for him to take more violent measures. He rose to his knees slowly before standing up. His body ached and he knew he had no strength left to fight. His efforts to escape Yassen's grasp had drained him and now that the adrenaline was gone, he had nothing left—only a supreme sense of weary resignation. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at the bloody streak across his forearm. Then he met Yassen's eyes. Yassen spoke Russian to the men, his eyes fixed on Alex, never leaving him. The two men grabbed Alex, each holding an arm, and started to drag him away through the door of the changing room. Alex walked with them. He wasn't going to let himself be carried to his death. He wanted to have some dignity left.

He was surprised when they didn't go straight to Cray's office. They shuffled him through a number of passageways and then out of the compound into the open night air. Alex was surprised when he was forced into a waiting Mercedes. The two men got into the front seat and Yassen sat beside him in the back seat. Once inside the vehicle Yassen took his arms in his hands, not quite as roughly as Alex had expected, and put them together behind his back before snapping a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. Alex winced when the cold metal pinched his skin. Yassen's hands left him for a moment and then he felt the sting and pressure of a hypodermic needle in his back. His body weakened almost immediately and Yassen pushed him down onto his left side. Ruefully he wondered why the Russian had only chosen to sedate him now, after he had had to endure the pain of a dislocated shoulder. Alex was lying on his left side, his hands locked behind his back. His cheek was pressed against the seat and he could smell the rich leather. Through his drooping eyelids, he saw Yassen watching him carefully. The last thing he knew was the pressure of the man's hand on his side, and then he knew no more.

**A/N: To be continued, if there's enough interest…**

**Please tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I know it sounds funny, and possibly insane, but Alex stopping to shower in Damian Cray's compound is actually in the book ****Eagle Strike****: "...halfway down the corridor he found a changing room...Alex knew it would cost him precious minutes, but he had to get clean. He stripped and showered, then dried himself and got dressed again." (p. 191) Of course in my story Alex doesn't quite make it out of the shower without being apprehended.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed—you make it all worth it! The next chapter will be rated M, so make sure to change the rating parameters if you're searching for this story. **

Yassen Gregorovich stretched out his legs. He was sitting on a bed in a hotel room in Rotterdam. It was morning and light shined in through the closed blinds, creating gently undulating patterns on the bed covers. Yassen lightly fingered a flash drive between his thumb and forefinger. When his cell phone rang he answered it in a characteristically unaffected voice.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, Mr. Gregorovich."

"Mr. Cray."

"Do you have him?"

"No. But I will find him. It's not a problem."

"You be sure to do that, Mr. Gregorovich. I hate that smartass kid. You bring him back to me, alive, and I'll personally slit his throat. You can torture him, but I want to see it. I want to hear his screams."

"I understand."

"Have you recovered the flash drive?"

"No, but I will."

"And you think the brat has it?"

"He may. I don't know. It is possible."

"Mr. Gregorovich, you almost seem cavalier about this."

"I can assure you I'm not."

There was silence for a moment. Then Cray spoke. "Where are you?" he demanded.

"I'm staying at a hotel in Amsterdam."

"Why are you…You must bring the boy to me!" Cray fretted.

"I understand. He will be back at the compound and your flash drive will be recovered within a day. There is no need to worry."

"How can you be so sure?" He paused. "You said you were in Amsterdam?"

"Yes."

"Tell me exactly where you are and I will send my men to assist you."

"There is no need for that. I shot the boy in the leg. He's bleeding heavily. He won't get far. I can easily handle him. Have your men check the local hospitals if you wish."

"Fine. You call me the minute you find him, Mr. Gregorovich"

"I will."

Yassen clicked the phone shut and set it down beside him. His eyes rested on the boy lying on the bed across from him, dead to the world. He was cut and bruised, but otherwise he was unhurt.

Җ

Alex slowly came back to consciousness, with the feeling that he had been out for awhile and that he was coming out of a deep, undisturbed sleep. He woke lying on his stomach in bed. His left wrist was locked in the handcuff, shackled to the bed frame. His body ached from the jarring contact with the concrete floor. His right shoulder was so swollen he could hardly move it. He lay there for awhile, not moving, trying to gather the courage to assess his surroundings. His face was still buried in the pillow; he was reluctant to show signs that he was awake. He didn't know if waking meant he was closer to his death.

Alex wasn't sure where he was or how much time had passed since he had lost consciousness in the Mercedes. Where had Yassen brought him? Was he still in Amsterdam? For that matter, was he still in the Netherlands? He assumed that Yassen was keeping him here at the request of Damian Cray. Cray probably didn't want him anywhere near his compound until Eagle Strike had been activated. And so far his plan had succeeded. Alex had no way of stopping the madman from killing many thousands of innocent people.

He stiffened when he felt the cold barrel of a gun press against his spine. "I know you're awake, Alex," Yassen said quietly. Alex slowly rolled over, perched on his elbows. He looked up defiantly into the man's pale blue eyes. Then he glanced briefly around the room. They were staying in what appeared to be a typical hotel room—two beds, one bathroom, one miniature refrigerator.

Alex was the first to speak. "Why are you keeping me here? What do you want with me?"

Yassen ignored his questions.

"What time is it?" Alex demanded.

Yassen hesitated before he responded. "It is the afternoon. Approximately one o'clock." He considered the boy in front of him before continuing. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"Yes."

Yassen unlocked the handcuff from the bed and nodded toward Alex. "Go. Leave the door open."

Alex stood up and walked toward the bathroom, the unlatched handcuff dangling from his left wrist. He moved deceptively slow, stumbling a bit and acting disoriented. He knew a man like Yassen would probably see right through his act, but he had to try. He left the door open as Yassen had instructed and used the bathroom before splashing cold water from the sink across his face. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt and came out of the bathroom slowly, eyelids drooping, acting dazed. Yassen glanced up at him from the Japanese manual he was reading. The Russian's eyes met the boy's, and immediately Yassen knew that something was wrong. Alex quickly turned toward the door and fumbled with the deadbolt, moving with a speed and a focus that he had not previously indicated. Yassen was up off the bed and on his feet in an instant.

Alex felt the breath knocked out of his body as Yassen slammed into him. He didn't make a sound as he fell, striking his right cheekbone on the bed frame closest to the door. Momentarily stunned by the impact, Alex remained on his hands and knees. Yassen grabbed one of his legs and dragged him back toward him. Alex's hands scrabbled uselessly at the carpet. Struggling with the boy, Yassen was able to capture his hands and hold them down against his back. He locked the handcuff around Alex's free wrist and tightened it. Now both hands were immobilized. Holding Alex down against the floor, Yassen could feel the boy's heartbeat, fluttering like a caged animal.

In this compromising position, with his hands locked behind his back, Alex knew he was caught. He had hoped to get the door open; that had been his only chance. He had known that once Yassen got him down on the floor, there would be no escape. He relaxed his muscles some. It was abundantly clear that Yassen had total control over him, and he was quickly losing the strength to fight against that actuality. Alex braced himself for the inevitable punishment. Would Yassen dislocate his other shoulder, or worse? He was surprised when the agonizing pain did not come. Yassen seemed to have no interest in hurting him at present, but Alex assumed that he had orders from Cray to save the torture until he had an audience.

Yassen dragged him a little closer to the bed, legs clamped securely around his torso, holding him in place as he prepared the sedative. Alex knew that he was going to be drugged again, but he didn't care. His hope of escape was defeated. He lay there on the floor, cheek pressed against the carpet, still between the man's knees, and waited to be stuck with the needle and pass out. He was looking forward to the nothingness that was forced sleep. Yassen finished preparing the sedative and knelt over him, still holding him between his legs.

He could see the boy's face, turned toward him, as well as his black eye. Alex seemed relatively calm as he lifted up his shirt to expose his back, moving his bound hands out of the way. He did not struggle. Yassen injected the sedative in his lower back, near his spine, and watched his face as his eyes momentarily squeezed shut and he grimaced. He knew it hurt him, but he didn't make a sound or try to move.

After he emptied the syringe, Yassen removed the needle gently from the boy's skin and pulled his shirt down to cover the small puncture wound the needle had produced. He rested his hand on Alex's back as he waited for the medicine to take effect. He sat beside him on the floor and watched him calm down. He saw Alex's eyes close and felt his breathing slow until he was no longer conscious.

Once he was certain the boy was unconscious, Yassen picked him up from the floor. He deposited his limp form on the bed furthest from the door, laying him on his stomach. He unclasped the handcuff from his right hand and shackled his left hand to the bed frame, just as he had before. The boy's hands were cold against his own. He looked down at him. His left cheek was pressed against the pillow, exposing the painful-looking bruise that marred the right side of his face. His eye was already swollen and half-closed. Yassen knew that Alex was scared and confused, though he tried valiantly to hide it. Asleep, he seemed to be like any other child—peaceful, unguarded, and vulnerable. But Yassen knew that there was no boy quite like Alex in the world.


End file.
